Hi there reader. This is a new story of mine, and is one of what will be many attempts to break out and try to write in a very different category to the ones I'm used to. I will be giving several categories a go, many of which I haven't ever written in before, or in some cases even thought about. I hope you enjoy the experiment!
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Part 2: Paranoia and pregnancy tests
I felt sick, I thought I was going to puke. Rushing for the bathroom, I ignored Michael's inquiry about Sarah's whereabouts, not wanting to wonder how tired she must have felt after today, not wanting to think about how drunk my cousin could get, or how unused to alcohol my little sister was, or how similar my aunt was in shape to her daughter...this couldn't be happening, it just couldn't! Not today! NOT EVER!!! I pushed open the doors into the lobby and stopped dead, hearing my name being called from behind me.
"Will? Oh, there you are darling...could you give us a hand? Mummy is a little wobbly..." I feared the worst...so many white roses...
With dread building in my stomach, I turned around to face my mother. She was leaning on the railing of the staircase that led to the rooms upstairs, a tissue in one hand and a tear on her cheek. I immediately rushed to her and she took my arm, leaning on me now, and with a sob she wiped her tears away.
"I'm sorry baby, I just can't believe my little Sarah is married. You're all so grown up now," she said, turning to look up at me with a smile on her face. I couldn't do more than nod and hold her up, I was too afraid of blurting out something incriminating.
"Well," she said, tucking her tissue away, "time to get back out there, we need to take some group photos I think!" She hitched her dress straps firmly onto her shoulders, and that was when I saw it.
Her rose.
It was still in place. I almost collapsed from the sheer release of tension in my body. I barely heard my mother as she told me to get my ass in there and smile for the camera, and followed her without question.
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As it turns out, I have a much higher drinking limit when I only open my mouth to down a beer rather than talk. Of course, it was a wedding, which meant I was drinking rather than talking a
lot.
No surprise then when I woke up the next morning with the biggest hangover of my life – seriously, even my own wedding day years later failed to compare to the sheer memory of it!
I wasn't entirely alone in my brain-thumping misery on the way home. While Dad seemed fine and Taylor wasn't really affected either, Mum was much worse for wear, and Jaimi...I don't know how much she had but she wasn't looking at anyone or saying anything at all. She just sat quietly next to me in the back seat, with her arms crossed and her jumper hood pulled over her head. My guess was she regretted trying too keep up with Lucy's drinking. Jaimi loved her sports, and her fitness and running and all that, and her competitive streak tended to get the better of her sometimes.
When we got home she headed straight for her room while Dad and I got the bags out of the car. It should have annoyed me but I was honestly too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and too afraid to even speak to her.
"Could you take Jaimi's things up to her Will?" asked Dad. With my worst fears foremost in my mind I pulled my own case out and trudged up the stairs to dump my things in my room, then knocked on Jaimi's door.
"Uhh, Jaimi? I've got your bag here," I said, trying to sound normal while wanting to be anywhere but near her room. I heard movement and the door opened to a sullen faced Jaimi, wearing nothing but her skin tight running shorts and a singlet – an attire I was used to, but which nonetheless sent my mind into overload – who took the bag and muttered an embarrassed "thanks" and shut the door, all without even looking me in the eye.
Now I wasn't exactly in a talkative mood either, but Jaimi was always polite, respectful and easy going at home, so the fact that she was actively avoiding contact with us and seemed as guilt-ridden as me was far from normal. She hardly spoke over our rushed dinner, and disappeared into her room without even saying goodnight to me or my parents. So naturally as I went to bed that night I was kept awake wondering, with a horribly detailed imagination, just where my little sister had ended up after getting drunk at the wedding.
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It had now been a week since we got home from the wedding, yet I had hardly slept more than a few hours in total. I couldn't do it, I just tossed and turned all night and what little shut-eye I got ended in a lurching wake full of fear and shame. After dinner I would play games, do some reading for the second half of my university semester or do as much physical activity as possible in my room, and when all that failed I still couldn't sleep. I knew I had to get some rest somehow; the holidays were wrapping up and everything would go back to normal soon. Eventually I ran out of energy and spent most of my time moping about in my room, too tired to do anything but think and cringe.
Jaimi, on the other hand, seemed determined to avoid staying home at all, ducking off without a word of warning in the morning and barely making it home in time for dinner that night. She looked tired in those fleeting moments when we saw her. It was more than a little worrying; her behaviour was one of avoidance and discomfort, something we weren't used to seeing in easygoing, full of smiles Jaimi. My fears had grown in that week, and I really wasn't thinking straight. Most of the time I lay awake thinking if I curled up into a tight enough ball I would either explode or wake up and find this was all a bad dream. My journey, the one that started with that fateful wedding day, was about to crank up a notch.
Having tossed and turned all night yet again I came down for breakfast early the next morning and found Mum getting ready for work. "Hi sweetie, I'm sorry to do this but I wanted to ask if you could take care of the laundry for me today," she asked. "I know you'll probably be busy but our things from the wedding really need washing."
I nodded and went back upstairs, gathering my own clothes in a basket before knocking reluctantly on Jaimi's door. I got no answer, so I went to check the hamper in the bathroom we shared and almost got hit by the door flinging open, revealing a tired, harassed-looking Jaimi. She had obviously just gotten up, still wearing her sleeping shirt and shorts, and no bra – which wouldn't have been so bad had it not been a bit cold, and had my mind not been so preoccupied with the possibility of me having fucked her a week ago. Her breasts were a reasonable size, and unlike when she wore her sports bras, right now they were pressing heavily on her tight t-shirt.
"Umm, washing?" I said, trying not to think sinful things.
"Oh, yeah, it's in there," she replied, marching off and going downstairs without looking at me. I went in and picked up the hamper, seeing it full of her clothes and emptying it into my basket. Even as tired as I was my mind was always thinking when I don't want it to, so naturally I wondered what had gotten her so worked up, and looked around the bathroom, my eyes falling on the bin beside the sink. I don't know what drew me to it, but I leaned over and looked inside, seeing some bunched up tissues...and something else.
